


boiling point

by autumnstwilight (sewohayami)



Series: Ignoct Week 2019 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Gen or Pre-Slash, IgNoct, Ignoct Week, Ignoct Week 2019, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Slice of Life, brotherhood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-26 15:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewohayami/pseuds/autumnstwilight
Summary: Sometimes, even Ignis cracks a little under the stress.(Ignoct Week, Day 1: "Comfort")





	boiling point

**Author's Note:**

> I'm using Ignoct week as motivation to write some one-shots I've been meaning to do for a long time, so this also doubles as a fill for this kinkmeme prompt: https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=11243066#cmt11243066

The door to Noct’s apartment thudded shut behind Ignis, as he hadn’t had the presence of mind to close it quietly, and he resisted the urge to simply lean against it and sink onto the floor. The day had been a disaster from the beginning— after a terribly late night writing up reports, he had slept through his alarm. There was no time for breakfast, he’d barely managed to finish half of his coffee on the way to training. 

He reached down to remove his shoes and the jolt of pain that shot through his wrist reminded him of the heavy blow Gladio had landed to his forearm, while he was still barely awake. He knew that by now, his shirt must be concealing a sizable bruise. Because of that, he’d also failed to meet his improvement goals for dagger throwing, which frustrated him immensely, despite Gladio’s insistence that he couldn’t expect to beat his previous records while injured. Instead he had thrown several more daggers with excessive force, immediately regretting doing so when he heard a popping sound in his wrist. Now he’d need to let it rest for days, and meanwhile, his targets would go unmet.

The day hadn’t improved once he’d entered the Citadel, either. He’d struggled to keep up with taking notes left-handed, and suspected that deciphering them later would also be a chore. He’d confused the locations of two minor provinces in Niflheim, thus giving an inappropriate suggestion for an infiltration team to land by boat in a location that it had been quickly pointed out was landlocked. He’d begun to nod during a lengthy discussion of grain imports and only jerked awake when he had almost fallen off his seat. It had teetered and fallen back into place with a thunk that echoed through the entire hall, dozens of heads pivoting toward him and a floor that stubbornly refused to swallow him up. A councilor had come to him during the lunch recess to discuss “important matters” that mostly regarded his own reputation, monopolizing Ignis’ time, and preventing him from getting any more lunch than a vending machine protein bar.

Somehow, he'd made it through the afternoon, albeit with a mood that had been growing sourer by the minute. There was a twinge in his wrist with every action that he took, reminding him of his failures. His head began to throb after his fourth can of coffee, and no matter how much he firmly told himself that he was not going to starve over the span of a single day, his stomach protested otherwise. He'd managed to keep an impassive expression over the growing chorus of  _ get me out of here _ inside his head, but when his last meeting had run over, he had begun to entertain a wild fantasy of hurling his chair through the nearest window, followed by himself. Even his good hand had been shaking, and he wrote nothing the entire time.

He looked at his current surroundings. There was trash by the apartment door, bagged at least, but then forgotten, left to sit until trash day the following week. Other horizontal surfaces had begun to collect detritus, a soda can here, a plastic wrapper there. Ignis sighed, but decided to deal with it later.

The immediate issue was food— dinner for himself and Noctis. Stifling a yawn that threatened to unhinge his jaw, he made his way into the kitchen, taking inventory of the pantry. There was pasta, and a jar of pre-made sauce. The fridge had cheese that could be grated, and it wasn’t his fanciest dish by any means, but the desire to demolish a plate of cheesy pasta overrode all other considerations. Apart from the paltry few in the jar of sauce, Noct would successfully evade vegetables for this evening.

He set a pot of water on the stove, added a pinch of salt, and drummed his fingers impatiently as it refused to boil under his tired glare. Watched pots, and all. At last, the surface began to bubble, and he added the pasta, then moved on to grating an adequate amount of cheese, then more than that, then shoving a handful into his mouth.

Damn, he’d forgotten to set a timer. The package for the pasta said nine minutes— perhaps three and a bit had passed? He set the timer for five, but he’d have to observe closely for when the pasta reached al-dente. The timer beeped, and he checked. Close enough. Call it done.

That was when he took the pot and dumped both water and pasta directly into the sink. He stood there for a moment, blinking, unwilling to believe the stupidity of what he had just done. The metal colander sat on the counter-top beside him, shiny and untouched.  _ Bloody hell. _

He could have cursed out loud. He could have hit something, or thrown something. But instead he stood there, too exhausted to lash out. None of it would have made him feel the slightest bit better. The rage that had been percolating inside him since that morning flooded him with a prickling, itching heat, and boiled over as tears. Clutching the counter, he sobbed, and kept sobbing, in a feedback loop of utter ridiculousness. He hated this, losing self-control. And the more his body refused to come back under his command, the more frustrated he became, the more that wordless, inexpressible pressure inside him continued to force itself out through his eyes, nose and mouth.

For goodness sake, he hadn’t cried like this since he was a child. No, even then he had been far too aware that people were relying on him to put on a performance like this. It was absurd. Why then, did that realization come out as a choked wail? Why did his hands shake more the harder he clenched onto the counter-top? Why couldn’t he just stop?

It was then that he heard the sound of the door unlatching, and froze. Gods, would he not even be granted the time to pull himself together? The swing of the door, footsteps. Unable to locate tissues, he grabbed frantically at some paper towels.

“Specs?”

The voice came as he was trying to at least wipe the snot from his nose. His eyes felt hopelessly heated and puffy, and Noctis wasn’t blind. He was crossing the room now, quick and determined, eyebrows knitted in concern.

“Who died?”

“Oh no, it’s not—” Ignis managed, before his throat closed up again. He ducked behind the counter, trying to hide his face, but Noct marched into the kitchen and seized his wrist, eyes dark and serious. Then he pulled Ignis into a hug, arms tight around his waist, face buried in his chest.

“Come here,” he said, and there was a commanding edge in his tone that was rarely heard, a mark of the regality that he bore but preferred to reject. Ignis crumbled then, all attempts to salvage his dignity abandoned, throwing his arms around Noct and sobbing openly into his shoulder.

One of Noct’s hands worked its way up his back, firm pressure between his shoulders. He remained there, making quiet, soothing noises until Ignis had, at length, stopped shuddering.

“Ready to talk?”

“Oh, I must apologize— it isn’t— I shouldn’t—”

_ "Ig-niiiis," _ Noct dragged out his name, “What happened?”

Ignis gestured helplessly toward the sink full of cooling, limp pasta. There was a moment as Noctis stared, then seized the edge of the counter, doubled over with wheezing laughter.

“Okay, okay, I— ahahaHA— ‘msorry— I—  _ oh my god— _ ” he paused to wipe his eyes. “You’ve killed me. That’s who’s dead. It’s me.”

“It’s not bloody funny,” Ignis said, trying to resist the slightly hysterical laughter that was welling up inside him. He failed moments later, breaking into a fit of giggles that was only marginally less embarrassing than the snot-crying, hand clamped over his mouth.

When he’d finally gained a hold of himself, Noct was looking at him pensively. Fingers reached up to brush loose hair from his heated brow.

“Look, I still don’t know what else is up, but man… You look like you haven’t slept for like, a week. Go lie down.”

The expression on Ignis’ face must have spoken for him, because Noct continued.

“Now. By royal command. I’ll order us a pizza.”

Ignis opened his mouth but Noct cut him off.

“ _ With vegetables, _ if that’s what it takes. I’ll get the supreme. Come on.”

Noct circled around behind him and began pushing him toward the bedroom, and Ignis gave up all resistance. Noct’s bed, unmade from the previous night, nevertheless looked heavenly. He sat and felt the mattress sink under him, lowered his head onto a pillow that seemed to swallow him up. He thought that he might have felt hands pulling the blankets over him, fingers reaching for his glasses, and pausing to brush the hair from his face, but his awareness had already faded too much to be sure.

* * *

A touch on his shoulder pulled him back into the waking world. He rolled over groggily, and managed to make out Noct’s features coming into focus above him.

“Nnh,” he said.

“Pizza’s here. You’ve been out cold for about thirty minutes. If you wanna sleep more, I can put yours in the fridge.”

With considerable effort, Ignis hauled himself into a sitting position.

“I’m afraid if I go back to sleep, I might take over your bed for the foreseeable future.” He paused, then added. “Also, I am  _ ravenous. _ ”

He fumbled at the bedside table aimlessly for a moment before Noct pressed his glasses into his hand. Ignis wiped them on his shirt, put them on, and ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

As he entered the living room, the scent of pizza revived him considerably. There were two boxes on the table, which he was glad for, since the ability to share food was beyond him at this point. Noct handed him one of the boxes and took the other for himself, they both sat on the couch with the boxes in their laps. He folded a slice in on itself twice to fit as much in his mouth as possible, and was halfway through inhaling his third slice of pizza when he noticed Noct watching him with a raised eyebrow, his own pizza neglected.

“Something the matter, Noct?” he said, after gulping down the mostly-unchewed mass in his mouth.

“Uh… I’ve just… Never seen you eat like that before. You're usually like a book of table manners that came to life somehow.”

“Ah,” said Ignis, suddenly self-conscious. He unrolled the slice of pizza in his hand, and endeavored to take smaller bites, which was easier now that he had at least some food in him.

“I mean, you don’t have to worry about it. It’s just me here.”

Ignis made sure his mouth was empty before speaking.

“I believe I am supposed to be setting a good example for a certain future king.”

In response, Noctis rolled up his own slice of pizza and shoved it in whole, making direct eye-contact with Ignis as he chewed with his mouth open.

“That is  _ disgusting. _ ”

“Love you too, Specs.”

Ignis laughed despite himself, and then looked at the pizzas. He’d barely tasted the ingredients on his own pizza, except for the greasy cheese, which had been like manna from heaven. Now he could see that it was indeed one with the lot. On the other hand, Noct’s pizza was conspicuously lacking green peppers and olives. It did appear to have mushrooms and onions, none of which he had picked off, and Ignis supposed that was a good enough compromise. He looked down at the box in his lap and found that there were only three slices left. Goodness, when did that happen?

He settled back into the couch, beginning to feel sated and heavy, slowly finishing the last of his meal. He exchanged some idle chatter with Noct, gossip about happenings at the Citadel. He didn’t bring up any of Noct’s responsibilities, and Noct didn’t ask him to share the details of his bad day. It was nice, he thought, though they certainly couldn’t do this every day. Nice to imagine they were nothing but a pair of teenage boys gossiping over junk food. A slice of a different life that they might have had, simple and careless.

Ah, but there was no point in melancholia. These moments were to be enjoyed for what they were, appreciated precisely because of their rarity. He lingered as long as he dared, then rose to his feet, brushing crumbs from his lap that he would have to vacuum the next day.

“Well, I suppose I should go home and sleep.”

Noct hesitated for a moment, then said, “Yeah,” with the lopsided smile he sometimes gave, a hint of loneliness that Ignis had never quite been able to sweep away. He followed Ignis to the door and waited as he put his shoes on. When he straightened his back, Noctis pulled him close, burying his face in Ignis’ chest.

“Take care of yourself, Iggy.”

“But of course.”

There was a tug at his sleeve, a mumbling into his shirt.

“I know I ask a lot of you. But… I want you around. To help me protect the people I care about.”

Noct looked up, meeting his gaze with an almost painful honesty. In those eyes was the child that Ignis had first met.

“And  _ you’re _ one of those people. Don’t forget that.”

“I never would,” Ignis says, and pulls Noct to his chest again, one hand cradling the back of his head. “I swear it.”


End file.
